


Isn't it nice to know a lot? And a little bit not.

by Handfulofdust



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Slight Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 08:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14733120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Handfulofdust/pseuds/Handfulofdust
Summary: Olivia is feeling sad about growing older and sorry for herself because she thinks everyone forgot her birthday.





	Isn't it nice to know a lot? And a little bit not.

**Author's Note:**

> I received a request for a birthday-related fic for Mz_Scheherazade on Twitter. I hope you like this and this works for you even though I'm not sure this turned out quite the way you were wanting. :) 
> 
> I am pretending the Episode-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named never happened but a lot of everything else is mostly the same. 
> 
> Special shout outs to Ruth and Pamela, who helped me with the jewelry because I am unobservant. :/

“Ellery Ester just liked my post!” Carisi tells her as she walks back to her office, pointing at his phone. It seems like she’s been here for a 16 hour shift but it’s only 2 pm. She doesn’t feel comfortable leaving until at least 4:30. 

It’s been slow lately, which should be a good thing, but she’s bored. It’s the middle of the week and there is nothing to do. She’s thought about asking Homicide if they need help, but as soon as she does that she’ll get a case. She’s two people down today and she can’t have that.

Fin had taken a few much needed vacation days and was spending it watching Jaden. Amanda had insisted, prodded, pleaded to watch Noah tonight after work. She had told her she needed to take some time for herself, even if it was just sitting at home. She ended up taking a half day after Carisi started recommending podcasts. 

Carisi had insisted on staying in the office. He wasn’t about to leave her in the lurch. All he’d do at home was watch Netflix, he’d said. Now apparently, he’s run out of things to do because he’s been taking selfies for at least an hour. 

She leans over, peering at his phone. It’s a picture of him looking deadly serious, with a caption below, reading “Fighting the good fight with the Manhattan Special Victims Unit” and a series of hashtags that don’t make any sense. She shakes her head. He points to a line below that showing: liked by ellery.ester, trcarisi32 and 323 others.

“Who is that?” she eyes him suspiciously.

“Lieu, you don’t know Ellery Ester?” Carisi seems taken aback, then starts grinning because he knows something she doesn’t. “She’s the hugest of the Instagram models. She has like 2 million followers and counting.”

“Is this something you look at on a regular basis during your spare time, detective?” she can’t help but snark back, sipping her coffee. She feels she is losing what little grasp she had on culture in the first place. 

“No,” he scoffs, as much as Carisi is capable of scoffing. “See - I started following Chrissy Teigen because Teresa wanted her cookbook and I got real into it, ‘cause you know how she’s always posting pictures of her dog and little Luna, and then she regrammed Ms Ester so that’s how I know her.” 

She’s very sorry she even asked. She doesn’t know who any of these people are or why they are important or what a regram is supposed to be. She’s definitely not sure what it has to do with liking his picture and why that’s a good thing.

“Well I’m glad you’re making friends on the internet,” she smiles. “You can go home once you finish backing up that last section of files. Clearly it’s dead around here.”

“I told you Lieu,” he shakes his head no, “I’m staying put until 5 unless we get a case. You should get out of here. I can hold down the fort.” 

She rolls her eyes and walks back to her office. Sonny Carisi is ridiculous, but he’s earnest and caring and he’s come along way since he first started. She likes to think they’ve been a good influence on him, though some of that was probably Barba’s doing. 

She stops short at the thought of him. She’d almost allowed herself to forget how mad she is at him. Some best friend he is. 

He’d up and called her, right before Christmas, in the second week of December. Told her he’d gotten an opportunity back in Brooklyn to run the Immigrant Fraud Unit. 

She was happy for him, happy that people recognized the work he was doing, how good he was at it. She’d expected him to leverage the offer to get a promotion to Executive ADA or a raise. She didn’t expect he’d actually take it.

McCoy had hired some old friend’s kid from Chicago to replace him. The guy had no experience with special victims or sex crimes or child abductions. He’d been a homicide prosecutor. She couldn’t believe there wasn’t a more qualified person who’d jump at the chance to move to Manhattan. 

Typical white man bullshit really. Promote the guy you know instead of the person who knows. Stick it on the woman to fix it. 

Except - that wasn’t really fair. Rafael had done more than his due diligence to get this guy trained. It wasn’t his fault they’d saddled her with a neophyte. They’d prosecuted several cases together before he moved to Brooklyn. Peter Stone was more than capable of taking on her cases now. He just had all the personality of a box of Kleenex.

She wishes Rafael taking this opportunity, leaving SVU, didn’t feel like he was leaving her. She wishes it didn’t feel like she’s been drowning. It’s not that she has too much work to do or even that Peter is incompetent. 

It’s that he doesn’t really drop by any more. Why would he? Brooklyn is too far away and he’s been busy. New job, new employees, new office. What would they talk about? 

She’d decided she’s just annoyed she has to get her own coffee. She’s too lazy to go outside so she has to drink the office swill. She’s decided she’s just upset because she liked squabbling with him. His smile, his cologne, his tie and suspender combinations that really shouldn’t work. His bombast, his passion, his expertise. 

She’s decided that she’s not going to admit to herself she’d allowed herself to think he may have transferred  _ for  _ her. That maybe he’d actually wanted her to be something more. That maybe she hadn’t been misreading all those smirks and jokes. 

Maybe him leaving the office meant he’d finally gotten up the courage to take a chance on her. But she was wrong. Dead wrong. 

She’s heard all sorts of rumors about what happened. That he’s dating everyone from his assistant to the Brooklyn DA himself. That he’s angling to run for DA in a few years. That he got himself embroiled in something scandalous and he took the first train out. That there’s a scandal brewing in the Manhattan office and he’s the canary in the coal mine.  

The real reason is probably simple. He wanted to do something different. He wanted to make a difference in something that affected him. 

Maybe it’s something deeper than that. Maybe Special Victims chewed him up and spit him out like it does to nearly everyone. Maybe he couldn’t bear her anymore.   

They still text. He still comes by her apartment and hangs out with Noah, still goes with them to the park sometimes. But - something’s missing. The easygoing banter and hands on backs and what she thought were longing looks are all gone. They've been replaced by a man who made a commitment to her son and that’s the only reason he talks to her anymore. 

She doesn’t know what broke the camel’s back - what finally turned her into straw. It’s clear something’s shifted and she knows sooner or later in life something gets left behind. It’s just that it’s always her.

She’s trying not to feel sorry for herself but she can’t distract her mind from it when there’s nothing to do. She’s trying not to have a pity party because she’s getting too old and sappy. She’s beginning to feel like she’s stuck in a rut she doesn’t know how to get out of. 

She’s trying not to be one of those people who suddenly takes stock of their life on their birthday - when they see a number they don’t like on a page. She’s fifty. 

Fifty years old. She’s been in the same job for nineteen years. She’s had multiple failed romances. The only other person who's lasted is half on his way to retirement. She drives away all her attorneys, her detectives eventually leave, and Carisi is her last hope. Carisi - who is making duck faces at an iPhone and posting them on the internet. 

It’s her birthday and no one’s even said a word. Only Noah. He had given her a mug that said #1 Mom last night. She suspects this was actually accomplished by one of her detectives - maybe all three.

She even suspects Rollins was insistent on watching Noah because of it, and that Fin had left her alone because he knew she was sensitive about getting older. Maybe Carisi was even hanging out because he knew she would stay here all night if he left before her. 

One of them still could have said happy birthday or something. 

Her best friend could have said happy birthday or something. 

Probably no one knew. Probably no one cared. Amanda had just been telling her to take a few days off to enjoy the lull. Watching Noah was likely her way of forcing her hand into at least watching an old movie on cable. Movies that were new when she was in high school were classics now. 

Great.

Maybe now she can actually talk to Rafa about his classics. Though those are all literature and mythology and weird poems about death. As if he actually talks to her about anything besides Noah anymore. Like she’s not just pissed because she’d been waiting for him to make a move since December (since forever really) and now she’d lost the plot. Now she’d really run out of time. 

What a waste.

“Barba!” she overhears Carisi yell from the bullpen, as if she’s conjured him out of thin air. “How my boys in Brooklyn treating you?”   


“You have boys in Brooklyn?” she’d recognize that snark anywhere. It hadn’t been directed her way in months. She refuses to look up. She refuses to stare and have him notice. She can’t help herself.  

She hears Carisi launch into a long story about someone’s cousin’s mother’s brother’s best friend’s piano teacher’s babysitter and stops listening. She decides to read a story in the Times about the rise of avocado toast. She occasionally looks over at Rafa, who is slumped in Rollins’ chair, clearly annoyed he asked in the first place. He deserves it. 

She’s moved on to an exposé about fruit vendors price gouging. It’s somehow fascinating. She loses track of time.

“You didn’t once want to run out there and save me from Kylie Jenner?” his voice pierces her thoughts.

She looks up, he’s standing in front of her desk. He’s taken his jacket off, sleeves are rolled up. He looks relaxed and happy and she wants to cry because his happiness has not a lick to do with her. 

She shakes her head out of this line of thinking, smiles. 

“I don’t know who that is.”

“She’s one of the Kardashians.”

He lays his briefcase on her chair, places the jacket on top of it.   


“But her last name’s Jenner? How do you know this?”   


“I don’t pretend to understand. My new assistant is worse than Fordham Law back there with all of his filters,” he sits down, a pained expression on his face. He notices the newspaper she is reading. “You all really this dead?”

“The joys of winter,” she offers, hands placed on her desk so she doesn’t try and fiddle with anything. 

She's always so fidgety when he's around. She really just wants to rub the stubble on his jaw. He’s not hers to touch. 

“Well I guess that’s a good thing,” he considers, pursing his lips and nodding his head.

“Yes,” she agrees. “I just wish Carisi would go home instead of taking 800 pictures.”

“He has to get the exact right level of seriousness on his face so the children of the internet know he's important.” 

They both laugh. He’s looking at her like he used to. He’s talking to her like they’re in another life, another time. The weight of the world off his back and God he’s so happy without her. That’s the thing that changed, right? 

“Don’t you wish you were young again?” she sighs, “I’d love to wake up in my twenties and be one of those children of the internet.”

“With zits all over my face and a ton of rage I don’t unders tand how to deal with?” he raises an eyebrow, looking her over like she’s suddenly gone insane, “No thank you.”

“Oh come on,” she matches, “being old is for the dogs.”

“You really want to be younger?” he leans back in the chair, pondering her, smirking. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” she grumbles, practically pouting as she crosses her arms over her chest, “Men just get more distinguished and respected as they get older. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Why Lieutenant,” he laughs, pointing a hand to himself. “Are you calling me distinguished now? Should I record the date and time you deigned to afford me a compliment?”

He’s just making fun of her now. Maybe he’s just trying to tease but he’s hit a raw nerve and the way he looks at her when he teases makes her weak and stupid. 

“All right Counselor, nevermind.” She puts both hands on the desk, looking over her papers, trying to change the subject. Trying not to look at him. “What are you doing here anyway?” 

“No, I want to talk about this some more,” he leans over, continuing the offensive. “What is this ridiculous notion that you want to be twenty? You know what I was when I was twenty?”

Gorgeous and charming and confident as hell? Not that he’s none of those things now. 

“In the best shape of your life?” she musters, tamping down the urge to clock that smirk right off of his face, “I bet you could chug a bottle of bourbon in one go and wake up the next morning and ace the test without a sweat.” 

She’s trying to continue this teasing, but somewhere along when she started talking about bourbon this turned serious. As if he suddenly realized she means what she’s saying. 

“I was an idiot when I was twenty, Liv. All of our victims are idiots when they are twenty. Everyone’s an idiot at twenty. Mostly because you think you're the only one who isn't an idiot.”

He states this all as if it’s obvious truth, as if he’s made his point and they should move on now. As if she’s been on the receiving end of one of his closing arguments. 

All she can think about is that he used the word our. He can’t ride in here and act like they still work together, trying to make her forget he left her here. Trying to make her forget no one cares about her birthday. Not even him. 

“My victims,” she can’t resist the urge to correct. 

“Excuse me?,” he pulls his head back, furrowing a brow. 

“They’re not our victims,” she counters, emphasizing the adjective. “They’re just mine now.”

He furrows both brows this time. 

“Wait - is that what this is really about?” he laughs, but there’s no real amusement behind it. Could a laugh be sarcastic? “How does Carisi’s Instagram have anything to do with me transferring back to King’s County?”

“Sooner or later everyone leaves me behind and I’ve just been doing it for too long,” she snaps, immediately regrets it at the way his face flashes, a flicker of anger behind his eyes. “Why did you even come here?”

The anger is fully on his face now. 

“Forgive me if I thought we were still friends and I wanted to see you.” 

Could have fooled her. He never comes to see her. Not anymore. Not now. Not since he’s moved on to bigger and brighter things. 

He starts to sit up, “I’ll leave you to despair in your own time.”

“No look, I’m sorry Rafa,” she reaches a hand out across the desk, a gesture to stay. “I guess I’ve just had too much time to deal with my thoughts today and I’m not happy about training yet another ADA and - “   


“I trained him.” He interrupts. The prosecutor is back. This cold man who is only here out of a sense of duty. She thinks that idea hurts more than anything. “He’s fine. He calls me all the time and you can call me any time. I thought we went over this.”

She doesn’t want to talk about why she’s actually upset. That Stone only got the job because of nepotism. That he’s only the latest in a long line of people she’s just going to have to replace eventually. That this isn’t about Peter Stone or Jack McCoy at all. 

“Let’s move on,” she sighs, tries to brighten her face, “What did you come here to talk about?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go to dinner tonight,” he searches her face, and must leap to an assumption because his next words are a slap, really. “But I can see you are in no mood.” 

That old chestnut. The dinner, the drinks invite. He never once asked her this with any time to plan it. Like she’s a last second invite. That she can come along because Brenda in billing cancelled last minute and they already have a seat. That she can join him, if she wants, no big deal. 

“You came all the way from Brooklyn Heights to ask this?” she prods, “You could have just texted.” 

She hates seeing his stupid face when she turns him down. He doesn’t have a right to look sad about it. Maybe if he’d asked her on Monday or given her a few days she’d be in the mood. 

“I was in the neighborhood,” he shrugs. 

No big deal. She’s no big deal. Some last second pity invite. An old maid with no real best friend. A single mom whose fake best friend doesn’t even remember her birthday. Who can’t tell said best friend she’s in love with him so she’s going to push him away instead. 

“Right. Well,” she blinks, trying to alleviate the stinging in her eyes. “When you’re done making me a second thought in your life then we can talk. Until then I’m not interested in being your backup option. I don’t have a lot of time to waste.”

She’d like to look away. She really would. It would save her a whole lot of hassle. A whole lot of heartache and pain, but he’s clearly just as angry as she is and he’s mesmerizing when he’s that mad. It seems very immature to be pushing him like this and she wishes she could feel bad about it. 

Instead, he takes the high road. 

“I’m going to walk away before this all devolves into a shouting match, Liv,” he pauses, gathers his jacket and briefcase from the other chair. He puts both in his lap and gets up, “please don’t talk to me about not having a lot of time to wait around. I hope your day gets better.” 

He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, takes out a small blue box, and tosses it on her desk. He turns toward the door, gestures to the item. “And, uh, Happy Birthday I guess.”

He storms out of her office and out of the precinct before she can even think about stopping him. 

She really doesn’t want to know what’s in the box. Probably Gwyneth Paltrow’s severed head at this point. She feels like the last time that was a timely reference was the last time she was relevant in the world.

She can’t help herself really. She lifts the lid, pulls out a small piece of paper he’s sandwiched above what she assumes is jewelry. On it is a message scrawled in his copperplate handwriting. Deliberate and bold and perfect. Just like him. 

_ Liv, _

_ Happy 50 years to my best friend - the bravest, strongest person I know. Here’s to squabbling for another 35.  _

_ \- Your Rafa _

She wants to cry, but that would be immature and she’s a middle-aged mother with no prospects. She hesitates to look at what jewelry he got her, but she forces herself to.

It’s a necklace - a gold chain with a purple pendant on the end. She doesn’t know what it’s supposed to be for. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to follow his stupid shit. She doesn't know what he expects her to understand, or why he left her to do this on her own. 

Except- he’s right. He didn’t. He trained up Stone. He hadn’t walked away completely. She remembers him even asking her if this was really a good choice. She’d laughed and told him not to waste the opportunity. 

This was her fault. It's always her fault.

It still didn’t mean she understood what he meant about waiting around. 

“Yo Lieu what’d you do to Barba? He stormed out of here without so much as a disgusted nod,” she looks up to see Carisi standing at her door. He notices her fingering the necklace, gestures toward it. “You didn’t like your birthday gift?”

If she didn’t feel like an ass before she certainly feels like one now. 

“You knew it was my birthday?” she cocks her head to the side. 

“Aw come on, we’re detectives. You think we don’t know our own boss’s birthday?” He leans against the door frame, “Rollins said you’d been getting all crabby about getting old or something and we shouldn’t mention it. That’s why she got so weird about watching Noah.”

“I suspected that,” she nods, motions for him to come in and sit down. “You’re not the lookout who’s supposed to make me go to the surprise party are you?”    


“Ha, no,” he laughs as he sits in the chair Barba just vacated. “I’m supposed to make sure you don’t stay here until all hours of the night investigating some cold case. The three of us went in on something for ya, but we were gonna wait until Fin got back. Just as well seeing as how I thought Barba’s would cheer you up.”

She looks down at it, puts it back in the box.

“Oh, no. Our fight was about something else,” she shakes her head over her desk. “I don’t know if it was a fight, really, but it wasn’t about the jewelry.”

“Well good. 'Cause I know he worked hard to find you something nice,” he leans over conspiratorially, smiling like he just let her in on a big secret. “You know I don’t know the difference between the fancy stuff and the guys selling the knockoffs on Canal Street but he does.”

“It’s just a gold chain with a purple pendant Sonny,” she huffs, really annoyed and somehow touched at the same time. “I don’t even like purple that much.” 

“He was gonna just buy you a chain cause you broke the one to that heart necklace you like, but I think he got into it. You know Barba.” 

She thought she knew Barba. She used to feel like she could predict what he was going to do at any given moment, but now she feels like she’s missing a big message somehow. 

“How does he even know about the heart necklace?”

“I guess that’s my bad.  He noticed you hadn’t been wearing it and I told him about how you broke it running down that perp in Alphabet City. The purple’s amethyst and I think it’s the super high carat gold."  Sonny stops suddenly, realizing she’s still upset. “Lieu - I don’t know what’s going on between you guys but that’s not just a gold chain.”

She doesn’t know what’s going on either. She wishes she does. 

“It’s complicated,” is the best she can work with. 

“I hope it’s not about getting older cause this whole place is what it is ‘cause of you,” he leans over again. “Like you been here awhile yeah?”

“19 years,” she answers. 

“That just means you’ve survived this long because you’re the best,” he grins. Stupid, dumb, earnest, loving Sonny. A genuine sweetheart really. He’s come a long way. Maybe they all had something to do with it. 

“Thank you Carisi,” she smiles, he nods knowingly. “I’d tell you to go home but - “

“No dice,” he interrupts, holding his hands up in surrender as he gets up from the chair, “Don’t get mad at me but - happy birthday.”

She laughs as he darts from the room. She feels terrible about all of this but she’s sure her squad will understand. She can apologize to all of them once Fin gets back next Monday. The more pressing matter is this  _ not just a gold chain  _ necklace and the best friend she pushed out the door. 

What kind of friend buys you nice jewelry for your birthday? A best friend. 

That’s all he’ll ever be. Especially if she keeps turning him down for dinner and drinks. Especially if he keeps giving her no notice. Maybe she should tell him she’d say yes if he actually made time for her. 

Still, she feels like he’s communicating a message she doesn’t understand. 

She knows what she wants it to be, but she’s too old for games. 

[ _ I’m sorry _ ] she texts him. Followed quickly by another. [ _ I was an ass. Thank you for the necklace. Is it possible to still take you up on the dinner? _ ]

The three dots appear immediately, but he doesn’t text back. She waits another five minutes. No response.

_ [Okay. I deserve that. I hope I didn’t push you away.] _

She watches the three dots again, and this time they turn into a response.

_ [You don’t need to go home to Noah?] _

_ [Rollins is watching him] _

_ [Forlini’s at six?] _

_ [Okay.] _

She doesn’t really know why she feels like going home and dressing up in something nicer than her work clothes. It’s just the same old place, same old guy, same old thing. She’s just bored and left with her thoughts and maybe hoping if she looks nice he’ll be more apt to accept her.

More apt to do the impossible and actually ask her out. What a disaster she is, really. Yell at a guy for not treating you like a princess and then want him to ask you out. She’d like to get a grip, honestly. 

She tries telling Carisi he can go home at least another three times before 5:30 rolls around. She even tells him she’s meeting someone at 6:00 so he doesn’t need to be the lookout any more. 

They both know he knows it’s Rafael she’s meeting. He doesn’t say anything about it. He just insists on sitting in his chair until she puts on her coat and turns off the light around 5:20. 

He follows her out the door and down the stairs until they reach the street, where they finally split into different directions. He wishes her a good night and waves. What a golden retriever. 

She decides to walk to Forlini’s. It’s cold, but she needs the air and she’s wearing boots so the winter slush won’t ruin anything nice. She’s suddenly approving of the choice to not wear anything fancier than a work outfit. Even if she’d taken a cab she’d still run the risk of being too cold with much else on her feet. 

It doesn’t take long to reach the place and as she enters she’s immediately enveloped in the warmth of indoor heating. 

She sees Rafa before he sees her, having a deep conversation at the bar with someone. She can tell it’s a young woman by the hairstyle and four inch stilettos. She feels a cold chill down her back and immediately regrets the police boots and lack of makeup. 

She tamps down the pity party her head is currently planning. She talks herself out of ducking away. He wouldn’t invite her here as a third wheel. She’s never actually seen him date anyone but somehow she knows this girl isn’t really his type. 

Somehow she knows he’s trying to make a point. 

She nods at the hostess and enters the bar area. He sees her almost immediately. His face almost lights up and he smiles.  It shouldn’t hurt this much to know that doesn’t mean what she wants it to. He waves her over. 

“Liv, this is my friend Hannah Pollack. She’s just started working in the Manhattan DA's Office. Hannah, this is my friend Lieutenant Olivia Benson. We used to work together.”   


Hannah is probably 25, maybe. Fresh faced and wide-eyed and with none of the pain of the world set on her shoulders. 

Used to work together. She doesn’t know why that sounds so sad.

Because there is more than that. There just isn’t a word for best friend who you fought in the trenches with every day for six years. Person who was my shoulder, my rock, my sword. Friend doesn’t cover it and partner isn’t accurate. Best friend sounds childish and no one cares about this but her

It sounds sad because she wants him to be something there is a word for - even if boyfriend wouldn’t really cover it either.

Hannah’s face breaks out into a smile, “From the Manhattan SVU? You’re my idol!” 

That’s a curve ball she wasn’t anticipating. Way to feel young on your birthday.

“Thanks,” she manages a laugh, “I think.” 

“No, I’m obsessed with you.” Hannah grabs her hands. She looks over at Rafa. He's just smirking. “Is it true you’ve been with SVU for 18 years?” 

“Closer to 19,” she looks down at their hands. Hannah drops them suddenly. 

“Oh I'm sorry,” she clenches her teeth together. “I'm being a bit overkill aren't I? I knew you knew each other, I just wasn't expecting to meet you.” 

“It's fine,” she smiles. Not sure what any of this is. “Is this a setup Rafa?”

He puts his drink down on the bar, “No.”

Hannah looks between them, smiling like she's the next contestant on The Price is Right. “Mr. Barba is mentoring me. We usually have our meetings here on Thursdays. He said he'd like me to meet an old friend of his. I didn't realize it was you or I would have cancelled my date.”

_ Old friend.  _ Ouch. Apparently this was why he was in the neighborhood. He can make time for his mentee but not for her. 

“Lieutenant Benson,” Hannah continues, “I really wish I didn't like this girl so much or I'd blow her off. Can I give you my card so I can prove to you I'm not a complete spaz sometime later?”

“Okay,” Olivia answers.

Hannah digs into her purse, pulls out a card and hands it to her. 

“It was really nice to meet you.” She smiles, standing up and putting on her coat.  “Thanks, Mr. B!” 

She waves as he flares out a hand by way of saying don't mention it. She makes her way out the door.

Olivia smiles, leans on the barstool Hannah just vacated, “Mister B?”

“She's young,” he looks over at her, “Come on. Let's steal a booth.”

He makes eye contact with the hostess and motions to an empty one. She nods and marks it on her sheet. 

He gets up and makes his way over. When they used to do this she'd always go first. He'd put his hand on the small of her back and then sit across from her. It's scary how much she misses it.

She watches him slide in and makes a split second decision to share the same side. 

“So what was the point with Sorority Sally back there?” 

She tries not to be hurt by the face he gives when she pushes in next to him. Like his stomach just went queasy. He recovers quickly though, managing a smile as he responds.

“That as accomplished and poised and noble as she is, she’s going to fall flat on her face in those shoes and she won’t know it's coming until it happens," he sips on his scotch, laughing. 

“That seems a little mean,” she side-eyes him and he looks up, smiling.

“Exactly,” he says, holding his hand out as he gazes at her, “we can’t be any younger than we are, and I wouldn’t want to be because I know things now. Experience isn’t a bad thing, Olivia.”

“Age doesn’t necessarily mean experience, Rafael,” she counters, trying and failing not to match his smile. This is so, so stupid. 

“Okay. If stroking your ego isn’t going to cheer you up, then let’s talk about some other things that only get better with time -” He is trying to butter her up and God is it working, “cheese, whiskey, leather, wine.”

She shakes her head, feeling overwhelmed by all this attention, by him really. Sometimes she doesn’t think he knows how charming he is. Right now, he’s fully aware of it. 

“Alright Oprah,” she tries to bite the side of her mouth to keep from smiling so much. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Liv, if I buy you a bottle of a 1930s Cabernet Sauvignon will you understand my point?”

Here he goes, buying her nice things and saying nice things but not actually being there. She doesn’t understand it. He was in the neighborhood to meet with Hannah. Not to give her the gift. He doesn’t need to give her anything. 

“Don’t waste more money on me,” she looks away, pretending to be fascinated by the patterns of the wood grain in the table. 

“You’re not a waste,” he states. “And you could never be my second choice. I mean it Liv. You don’t want to be twenty again. You want all the life experience and knowledge you have now and to be thrust back into a twenty year old’s body but then you wouldn’t be you.”

She wants to ask him why he gave her a necklace, why he’s noticed her old one broke when all he ever does when they hang out anymore is just grin at Noah. Why he looks at her like this and says things like this and does things like this just to walk away. 

“Sometimes I just wish I could stop wasting time and find someone to settle down with,” is all she can manage. “Sometimes I even think I should just give up the goose and let Cassidy marry me. He’s got enough love for the both of us right?” 

His whole body goes slack beside her. He makes a face that somehow communicates both disgust and disbelief at the same time. He stares at the other side of the booth.

“Rafa,” she asks gently, “I know you don't like him but what else am I supposed to do?”

There. The opening. The conversation she’s been dying to have. She’s going to pull him into it kicking and screaming. 

“Can you move so I can go order or something?” he snaps, all snitty and and offended as if she’s the one sending mixed signals. “I really don’t want to talk about Brian Cassidy on your birthday.”

She has to do this. Even if it blows up in her face. She's going to just have to pull the grenade pin anyway.

“I'm not moving. So it appears that you're going to have to talk about it,” she challenges, willing him into it. 

“I seem to remember a lot of fights and you two never being on the same page about anything but who am I to talk?” he stares down at his scotch, closes his eyes briefly, sighs. “You really don't see me at all do you?”

“What?” she reaches out to grab his shoulder. He turns, locks eyes with her. 

“I expected you to turn me down again tonight. I get that you have responsibilities. I just hoped that you saying yes this time meant yes to me, but so much for hopes. I don't hate Cassidy. I just don't understand why, if you're going to settle for a man you don't love you can't settle for me.” He raises his eyebrows, almost daring her to do something, anything, but it quickly gets filed away and hurt settles into his features, “You want to move now?”

“No,” she blinks back the tears settling under her eyes. It was what she wanted the whole damn time? Why couldn’t he have just told her this instead of expecting her to read a signal about a necklace? If the dinner was asking her out why didn’t he let her know that? 

If leaving SVU was opening up the option to a relationship, why had he been acting like she turned him down?

“So let's stop moping around,” he switches, adopting some persona she’s not sure she likes. “Did I tell you that my new assistant is an actual garbage fire yet?”

She's not going to let him ignore the explosive that's charging between them - the grenade she's still expecting to go off. 

“Don't change the subject,” she counters. “Did you leave SVU because of me?”

“Liv,” he sighs, dejected. “It's your birthday.”

“Which really means you have to do what I ask,” her hand squeezes his shoulder. “Please answer the question.”

“Yes,” he runs his thumb across an eyebrow, flares his nostrils. “Not just that, but it was a big part.”

Talk about wasting time Rafa. He was in the neighborhood to give her a gift. He set up meeting Hannah to butter up her ego. He’s been sitting with all of this thinking she doesn’t love him? When he hasn’t given her the option to let him know she does? 

“It didn't once cross your mind to tell me this?” she asks, “To ask me on a real date once you left?”

He seems surprised she would ask, like they’ve already had this conversation and he can’t believe she forgot. 

“I believe you made it quite clear you weren’t interested when I asked if there was a reason to stay and you said why waste an opportunity.”

Dumbass. Fucking dumbass. Honestly. Both of them really. She didn’t know that’s what he was asking. 

“I thought you meant only professionally and I was trying to be supportive. I'm not a mind reader.”

“Can you not touch me please?” he groans.

She's only just noticed she's been running her hand along his arm. She moves away.

“Sorry.” She settles her hands in her lap. “Rafa look at me.”

His eyes snap to hers, full of pain and grief and she wants to reach out and cup his face and kiss him and make sure that sorrow melts away but she's not supposed to be touching him. So she squeezes her hands between her legs so she won't move.

“I don't know where you got this ridiculous notion that being with you would be settling. I was hoping that once we no longer worked together you'd make your move. If I’d known the drinks were you asking me out I would have said yes a long time ago. For such a smart man you are so clueless sometimes,” she shakes her head, laughing. 

Time to tell him, right? Time to actually use the words. 

“Can you stop wasting my time and kiss me? I'd do it myself but I'm not supposed to be touching you.”

He reaches out, runs his thumb along her cheekbone, smiles, “Well since it's your birthday and I'm supposed to be doing what you want.”

He kisses her, puts his hands at the back of her head and places his lips on top of hers. It's not quite what she was expecting but it's exactly as nice as she wants. 

“What?” He pulls back, searches her eyes.

“It's nothing, I just thought you would be a little more into me than that,” she shrugs. 

He raises one eyebrow, looks at her like she's the clueless one. “You really want to make out in public like a pair of sweaty teenagers?”

“I was planning on giving it the full college try and taking you home on the first date, but after that I'm not so sure,” his eyes shift, his tongue darts out to moisten his lips as he gives her a once over. 

His mouth forms one of those side smiles and he stares her down. A flood of desire hits her all at once. 

“You don't want college me. He didn't know what he was doing,” he picks up the tumbler and downs the rest of his scotch. She watches his neck as he swallows. 

Okay. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he’ll give her exactly what she’s expecting. Wanting, really. 

He turns back to her, “Believe me Liv, if I kiss you the way you're asking for you won't want to stay for dinner.”

“Is that so? You that confident?” 

“Yes.”

They're at a standstill. A stalemate. She can feel his breath he's so close, can study the way his eyes change. 

“Can I touch you?” She's picking up the grenade, she realizes. Playing with fire. She's through wasting time. 

His eyes dart back, he wasn't expecting this kind of response, “Sure.”

“Good,” she puts her left hand to his chest, placing it at his heart. She takes her right and rubs the stubble on his jawline like she's been dying to all day. Then she moves to the back of his neck and pulls him forward. Kisses him with all the passion she can muster. 

He responds immediately, hands in her hair, tongue in her mouth. She gets what he meant about sweaty teenagers because she's suddenly overwhelmed. 

He pulls back, “you wanna get out of here and pretend we're younger than we are?”

“No,” she puts her hands at his cheeks again, smiling wide, “I'd like to get out of here and be exactly as old as I am.”

“Good,” he leans forward and kisses her softly, before reaching for his wallet and pulling out some bills. He places them on the table. “Let's go.” 

She slides out of the booth and waits for him to put his hand on her back as they walk out. Instead he grabs her hand and entwines their fingers. 

She doesn't let go until she has to dig for her apartment keys, and the grenade finally explodes in the best possible way.

It's only later she realizes he threw $60 on the table for one glass of scotch. Seems a fair price.  Sixty dollars and whatever ridiculous amount he paid for that necklace. Experience tells her some things are worth the expense.

He's worth all the trouble.  Maybe turning fifty wouldn't be half bad after all.


End file.
